Memorandum forwarded by a foreign resident at H.: "On the 1st of June, 3,000 people (mostly women, girls, and children) left H. accompanied by seventy policemen. The policemen many times violated the women openly. Another convoy of exiles joined the party, 18,000 in all. The journey began, and on the way the pretty girls were carried off one by one, while the stragglers from the convoy were invariably killed. On the fortieth day the convoy came in sight of the Euphrates. Here they saw the bodies of more than 200 men floating in the river. Here the Kurds took from them everything they had, so that for five days the whole convoy marched completely naked under the scorching sun. For another five days they did not have a morsel of bread, nor even a drop of water. They were scorched to death by thirst. Hundreds upon hundreds fell dead on the way, their tongues were turned to charcoal, and when, at the end of five days, they reached a fountain, the whole convoy naturally rushed towards it. But here the policemen barred the way and forbade them to take a single drop of water. At another place where there were wells, some women threw themselves into them, as there was no rope or pail to draw up the water. These women were drowned, the dead bodies still remaining there stinking in the water, and yet the rest of the people later drank from that well. On the sixty-fourth day, they gathered together all the men and sick women and children and burned and killed them all. On the seventieth day, when they reached Aleppo, there were left 150 women and children altogether out of the whole convoy of 18,000." APPENDIX III LINES WRITTEN BY A SOLDIER IN THE ENGLISH ARMY ABOUT MARCH, 1916. _Christ in Flanders_ "We had forgotten You or very nearly, You did not seem to touch us very nearly. Of course we thought about You now and then Especially in any time of trouble, We know that You were good in time of trouble But we are very ordinary men. And there were always other things to think of, There's lots of things a man has got to think of, His work, his home, his pleasure and his wife And so we only thought of You on Sunday; Sometimes perhaps not even on a Sunday Because there's always lots to fill one's life. And all the while, in street or lane or byway In country lane in city street or byway You walked among us, and we did not see. Your feet were bleeding, as You walked our pavements How did we miss Your foot-prints on our pavements; Can there be other folk as blind as we? Now we remember over here in Flanders (It isn't strange to think of You in Flanders) This hideous warfare seems to make things clear, We never thought about You much in England But now that we are far away from England We have no doubts--we know that You are here.